


Hart of Winter

by deathwailart



Category: Original Work
Genre: Celtic Mythology & Folklore, F/M, Family, Fantasy, Folklore, Gen, Historical Fantasy, Prophecy, Scottish Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was prophesied that Cináed, next clan chief, would be stolen away by Beira, Queen of Winter for killing one of her stags. When he is taken, his older sister Aifric together with a young Seer of the clan go to find him, meeting a kelpie along the way who agrees to aid them in travelling to the Whirlpool of Coire Bhreacain before Cináed is frozen for good to melt with the coming of spring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started this for nanowrimo '09 but got nowhere. Then again for 2012 where I got six chapters in before uni ate all of my time. Hopefully posting it here will make me want to finish it before 2013 is out.

When each of her babies were born, Beathag sent for Deòiridh to come, her sister by marriage who had acted as midwife to all the other women of the clan ever since she had been taught her healing skills. She whispered words into tiny ears, knew what herbs to give a mother and had coaxed some blue babes back from death – a witch, some whispered, but well out of hearing of Aonghas, husband to Beathag, brother to Deòiridh and clan chief since his father passed on. Aonghas had waited outside for each birth, loyal hound to keep him company as the other men offered him a hot toddy or sloe gin as he waited, eyes on the moon, pretending that every scream from his wife did not drive a dagger through his heart. Aifric was the first of their children born on a night where the sky was stained red as blood and although Aonghas had wanted his first to be a boy to ensure his line would carry on, he'd spun his bonnie little girl in his arms before celebrating, returning to his wife as ruddy cheeked as the babe nestled to her breast. They had other children too, some who lived too few years, some who lived not at all. Cináed followed two years after his sister, their first boy, born during a time of lashing storms on the most foul night of the year so far with the wait for Deòiridh a long one as she made her way down from her own croft. Aifric howled to be separated from her mother so, passed on to her grandmother's keeping and the joy and warmth Beathag felt froze within her. She felt bitterly cold right down to the bones, shaking in her birthing bed as she strained to bring her child into the world.  
  
Deòiridh's arrival had not brought comfort. The boy laid in his mother's arms, the woman's eyes seemed to drift to see through croft, through the forests and mountains and Beathag had clutched the squalling infant to her breast as if she might shield him from what harm Deòiridh's words would bring.  
  
"This boy, this boy born on a night where spirits of those gone on to the next world, he will see the divine hag. Watch the boy when he hunts for stag or the storms will sweep him away. He will pay no heed to your warnings, watch him."  
  
Cináed had screamed in protest, tiny fists wheeling and Aonghas, so incensed he lost his wits for a spell, dragged Deòiridh out, telling her to get herself gone if she knew what was good for her. They hadn't seen her until the winter solstice when the clan had gathered together to celebrate the turning of the year and Beathag had been too busy juggling two small children that she thought nothing more of the words. She believed Aonghas when he said that his sister, whilst so dear to his heart, had always had a touch of madness to her, something fey and wild like the Seers or witches. Deòiridh had no husband of her own for no man could ever hope to understand her but she was mother to all in the clan, even those older, seeing them through sickness or comforting them as they slipped from the world, a beloved aunt to Aifric, Cináed, Marsaili, Keir and Muireadhach, the surviving sons and daughters of Aonghas and Beathag. She even came to adopt her own boy, a foundling child left in the woods on the outskirts of their borders by a hunting party who had brought the half-starved infant to Deòiridh. She had found him a nurse but no mother was comfortable to keep him to herself for he was considered to be a changeling or a fairy child; the mark, invisible to the eye, unable to be put into words, of a Seer was upon the boy and so she named him Amhlaidh raising him to understand his gift and how best to aid the clan.  
  
The clan all lived in the shadow of Ben Nevis the very throne of Beira, Queen of Winter, mother of all gods and goddesses. The clan loved her well for she was said to be monstrous, a giantess with one great eye, skin white as the snow upon the mountain peaks, her skin the dark blue of the night sky, her mouth full of red-brown teeth. Her hammer had made their mountains, Loch Ness springing forth when she drowned her maid Nessa in a river; Cailleach Bheur was not to be slighted, not the divine hag. Especially not when the words of Deòiridh nagged at Beathag when she watched Cináed grow, going off on hunts with his father and other men and boys. But sons are not known for listening to nagging mothers when they wish to prove themselves and as son of the chief, Cináed had more to prove than most. With his loyal hound he would go off with his father to hunt, to meet with other clans and to herd their sheep and cattle and Beathag would not sleep well until her son was safely tucked up alongside his siblings. Of course she worried for the others but no such ominous words had been said at their births. Afraic was as pleasant as her name if rebellious and wild herself from too much time spent with her aunt who taught her all sorts of things not suited to a young woman who was to be married off to secure alliances. Marsaili quiet and shy, content to hide behind her mother's skirts when meeting folk, Keir and Muireadhach both idolised their older brother and father, begging for stories or to be taken along on their journeys long before they were old enough for such things. As much as she loved them, there were times with Beathag's children made her feel frightfully old, as if life was rushing by her to usher in the new generation too soon.  
  
But life was good. The crops bountiful, the sheep and cattle docile and fat, their neighbouring clans not inclined towards war or theft save a few incidents and they had their health, thank the gods. Winter was harsh and some whispered it had been harsh ever since the chief's son had been born and it was true that despite his health throughout the rest of the year that he took ill every winter with fevers or chills, great hacking coughs that kept the whole family awake at night as they helped him to swallow soup and crumbled oatcakes or milk sweetened with a drop of honey. Each year he recovered just as suddenly as he had fallen ill, laughing with his friends or charming lassies.  
  
"Dinna fash yersel woman," Aonghas would always say when Beathag worried about it, reminding him of the warnings of his sister the night she had placed Cináed in Beathag's arms, "you know I love my sister but there's a reason folks call her witch or fairy wife when they think I canna hear them. Put it out of mind. If you worry, worry that we'll have some wallydraigle coming here wi' one hand on her belly saying it's our Cináed's. Or that Aifric will scare off the suitors who'll come to see her." He always laughed when he said such things, cheeks red as his hair and beard though both were now liberally streaked with grey.  
  
"I ken who teaches Aifric Aonghas, you indulge the lassie."  
  
"I'll no send any daughter of mine off without defending herself – Marsaili knows how to use a needle, I'm sure you taught her that wife." Indeed Beathag had taught both her daughters how to defend themselves but Aifric knew far more and never went without a knife slipped into her socks. She had not yet been gifted a bow of her own but owing to their close ages, her brother would lend her his and off they would go to the edges of the forest when their chores were done until they returned at nightfall to eat and share stories until it was time for sleep.  
  
Perhaps Aonghas was right. Beathag's mam had worried herself into an early grave and already she noted the grey in her hair, the lines setting in around her mouth that reminded her too much of her stern matron of a mother. She would enjoy her children being young before they all flew the nest hopefully birthing plenty of healthy grandchildren that she might enjoy for a good few years if her health remained. Aifric was fast approaching seventeen now and it was a love for his daughter that had stopped Aonghas from picking a suitor and arranging the hand fasting when all the signs were right. He loved all his children well but his firstborn and eldest daughter had a special hold on his heart. When she left – marrying her to another in the clan would accomplish nothing and would be seen as far beneath her – it would break his heart, Beathag was sure of it but she could not bring herself to ask Deòiridh of it at all. Let the future go as it would, let Cináed never see the storm hag for himself. She and Aonghas could go together when their bairns were old enough to support themselves with Cináed making a fine new chief to lead the clan onward.  
  
Another year passed, Aifric almost eighteen, Cináed almost sixteen. A suitor had been arranged from Clan Donald with the son of their chief set to marry Aifric, not an arrangement she favoured having never met him but she trusted the judgement of both her father and mother with one condition, that she be allowed to meet him first before being given away. A stag hunt was called to allow for a great feast for their guests with Cináed promising to down the largest stag he could so that their clan would not be found wanting.  
  
There would be no wedding for Cináed would not return. It was the fateful hunt that had been prophesied all those years ago upon his birth and as Beathag and Aifric waved off Aonghas and Cináed, Deòiridh wept.


	2. Chapter 2

Cináed was younger than many others on the hunt but he was tall and broad of shoulder with keen focus, determined to prove to all the men gathered that he would be a good leader and with this visit of Clan Donald then what better chance to prove his worth? Silent as a shadow he crept through the forest, bow in one hand, arrow in the other, moving so as not to knock the remaining arrows against the quiver. Deer were so easily spooked that they had not brought the dogs for catching a stag was vital. Nothing could go wrong or their guests might be slighted or ill omens cast upon the marriage or so father said. He cared little for the thought of marriage even though he was next. A comely lass was all he wanted, someone with wits for he could not abide an idiot – he flirted with the lassies of the clan because they were there and they were often comely but some had less wits than a newborn calf. He'd been clipped around the ear by his father for saying that. The memory made him want to snort but he restrained himself lest he be the one to scare the deer. It was a bitterly cold day with his breath forming a white cloud before him as he tugged his feilidh-mhor up his shoulder more securely, shivering as he did so, the tip of his nose and ears utterly numb. A thick frost coated the ground, leaves and grass crunching beneath his feet and he could hear the footsteps of the other hunters as they spread out to cover more ground. Deer had keen hearing, they would have to take care and make sure not to slip on slick ice or clumps of leaves or perhaps even pockets of thicker, brittle ice that might break beneath their feet.  
  
He'd always loved to go hunting ever since he could first hold a bow when his targets had been trees, his father teaching him how to move and how to track, skills he had told Aifric about when they had whispered long into the night. He'd taught her the bow too when she'd demanded. It was hard to say no to his sister when she had stuck up for him when mother hadn't wanted him to go on hunts, worrying over him as if he were an infant still in swaddling clothes. Something about what his daft old aunt had said years ago, things his father scoffed at although Aifric had been the one to skelp him for she loved aunt Deòiridh well. Still, at least she agreed that he should be allowed to hunt for that was what a clan chief did and that he could not sit idle all day. He knew their father had taught her how to wield the little dagger she kept in her sock. Aifric would be well when she was married off and whilst he hoped his future wife might be a bit quieter and less likely to tramp off with a bow, he wouldn't mind one who would be something more than meek and mild.  
  
Above him the birds whistled and called to one another, no alarm sounds yet and that was good. Let the birds go about their business as he went about his, flexing his fingers to get some sensation back so he would not fumble. He had prayed to Cernunnos that his aim be swift and true for he had been raised to respect the gods and spirits of this place. Many a time he had seen ghillie dhu slipping from tree to tree and had bowed his head in respect to them, holding his hound by the scruff to let the faerie pass without incident. These were wild woods so close to the throne of Cailleach Bheur and he had been warned to be at his most respectful of that lady, not only from the warning of Deòiridh and the insistence of his mother but his father too had held him by the shoulders on bended knee so he might look his son in the eye, making him swear to always be careful when he spoke or thought of the Winter Queen.  
  
It had been a good while that they crept through the woods when a cry went up. Thundering hooves rushed past him, a blur of brown as a stag gave a hearty bellow, a shout of triumph coming from somewhere west of him as he raced over the ground, other hunters following to find one of their best hunters standing over a hart with three arrows piercing it through the neck.  
  
"That'll do lads, aye, that'll do nicely," his father called as he clapped the hunter on the back. A jealous rage swept through Cináed at the sight. It was his sister who was to be wed, it was he who would be clan chief and it should have been his arrows bringing down the stag on which to feast their guests. He swallowed it down as best he could, congratulating the hunter under the watchful eye of his father as he seethed within, hanging back from the rest of the group as they hoisted the stag over their shoulders to take back down to their homes. It was then that a flash of movement caught his eye, whipping his head around to locate it, falling behind the others.  
  
"Cináed lad!" One hunter called, a cousin to him on his mother's side.  "Hurry your arse up!"  
  
"I saw something, I won't get lost on the way back like a bairn, go on ahead!" He called in return, already moving back up the hill in the direction he was sure the flash had gone, checking the ground as he'd been taught by his father for tracks. He had his broadsword at his side, sgian-dubh tucked into his right sock and his trusty bow and arrow with him but no hound. Calling for one would mean spooking the flash and arousing the suspicion of his father who would want them all back to begin their final preparations for the imminent arrivals to their home. Besides, he needed time to get over his jealousy or perhaps this thing could be something to trump that stag, some great huge beast that moved with the speed given by the gods.  
  
Finally in a clearing, when his legs were beginning to cramp from the cold and from running in a mostly crouched position he spotted it, rubbing his eyes to make certain it was not some trick of the light. A huge stag, larger than he had ever seen with antlers of a size that seemed impossible, their razor sharp tips glittering in the light. That was not what was most impressive about this beast. It glowed, not the red or brown of their usual fare or even the odd beasts with white pelts and pink-red eyes. This one shone like moon and stars, transfixing him as he drew his bow with great care, barely able to breathe as he took aim. The arrow flew straight and true, whistling through the air to catch the stag in the rump, a deep wound that would hinder it when it tried to run. And run it did, thundering along, snorting and bellowing but Cináed was young and full of fire as he gave chase, sure that this was it, that he would be the talk of all the clan and many others to bring down this great prize all by himself, still not fully considered to be a man.  
  
Cailleach Bheur saw it all. She watched this boy follow after her magnificent stag, the prize of her great herd of bucks and does, harts and hinds, father to so many of the fawns but most importantly, the stag was _hers_. One did not hunt that which belonged to the Queen of Winter, especially not so close to her throne. She knew that lads liked to boast of seeing them, that if they so wished that they could bring one down and that Beira would praise their skill rather than reprimand them but they knew better than to ever cross her for her retribution would sure be swift and cruel, snow or ice to bury them or great avalanches from the mountains to crush them. The chase was hard, the young hunter determined not to lose his prize as he fire more arrows, some swinging far wide but others making their mark until the stag faltered, foot caught in a rabbit hole where it staggered forward, a front leg breaking with a sickening crack that echoed through the forest. Cináed caught up to it, sweat and heaving great breaths, long hair loose and plastered to his face as he put away his bow, drawing out the sgian-dubh. He was merciful when it came to the final kill, slitting the beast's throat as it gave one last gasp before hot blood spilled upon the ground, coating Cináed's hands. Trembling with exhaustion himself, he shivered when the sweat began to cool for the weak sun had not yet penetrated through the trees, a low lying mist this high up making the air even colder, enough that every laboured breath he took stung his throat.  
  
But it was worth it for this sweet triumph, a larger stag he had never seen with a pelt that would make a find cloak, the antlers good for handles, trinkets and jewellery. He had done well today, he thought, wiping cooling blood across his cheeks as ravens and crows began to arrive, drawn to the smell of death already, their sharp cries the only other sound in the forest. They perched high on branches stiff with frost, not moving a muscle when he threw back his head to howl out his triumph like the wolves that would soon prowl. He would have to move quickly to get his prize back intact but giddiness and pride would help him shoulder such a heavy burden. So swept up in his moment of triumph was he that he ignored the warning that came his way. The earth shook for a moment before a low growl reverberated followed by a blast of fierce gale that would send all save the ravens and crows scurrying for a safe place, even the people of his village.  
  
The Cailleachan were coming for him.  
  
Suddenly, branches of nearby trees reached for him, tangling in hair and plaid. The wind whipped up with snow where there had been none before, blinding him and swallowing his cries for help. It didn't matter; son of the chieftain or not, no man was fool enough to turn back to aid him for fear of the same fate befalling him if they could even hear him for he knew not how far he had run in pursuit of his stag.  
  
"Cináed, son of Aonghas," a figure intoned, watching as his head whipped in all directions in an effort to locate the source of the voice, "you have struck down one of my deer."  
  
"Cailleach Bheur!" He cried out, thinking he might faint for a moment as he looked down at the blood on his hands and the slit throat of the stag, "I apologise! I beg your forgiveness great queen of all!" He sobbed, trembling and if not for the trees clutching him his knees would have buckled. He was facing the wrong way, out into the distance and so she let the wind drop, the thicket eerily still and silent. All creatures had the sense to stay hidden when she made her presence felt. The boy blinked and sniffed pathetically, tears trickling down wind scorched cheeks but he too ceased to move or make a sound when he could finally see her for when in the presence of a wroth god or goddess all are reduced to wailing infants no matter their age.  
  
She was taller than any man he had ever laid eyes upon wearing a great plaid and shawl in blues, whites and greys. A monstrous figure, taller than every tree, than most mountains he had laid eyes upon, her features looked as if they had been carved from stone and ice, that single eye so cold and full of fury that he forgot what warmth had ever felt like. For a long moment his heart ceased to beat and when she laid the very tip of one giant finger upon his cheek her feared she would crush the bones beneath it. Another glance and he could see the Cailleachan, ghastly ghoulish figures formed from little more than wind and hail, partly flesh, partly skeletal, moaning and wailing, grasping for him. He looked away, back to Cailleach Bheur who was somehow less painful to look upon despite her rage at his transgression.  
  
"Cináed, son of Aonghas, you have slain a deer belonging to Cailleach Bheur." Her voice was every storm man had heard, rock and bone cracking open, the roar of the seas, burns and rivers. She brought her face close to his and he thought she might swallow him whole. "For that you will be punished." Around them the storm raged anew, branches splitting and breaking, trees toppling to the ground as though merely twigs. The sky darkened and snow gave way to hail until suddenly the wind faded to nothing more than a whisper, the sky brightening and clouds parting to reveal the sun. There was no trace of Cináed nor Cailleach Bheur except for the trees blown outwards from where they had stood and the skeleton of the great silver stag, glittering like an icicle with all the flesh picked from its bones, a solitary raven perched on the skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feilidh-mhor – belted plaid or 'great kilt'  
> skelp – a slap, smack or blow, esp. one given with an open hand  
> ghillie dhu – a faerie, a guardian spirit of the trees  
> hart – male red deer, esp. over five years old  
> sgian-dubh – small single-edged knife, normally worn on the right leg


	3. Chapter 3

It had been hours since the men had set out to look for Cináed and even longer since he had set off with the hunters to find a stag in celebration of Aifric's impending nuptials. Her mother had been wailing, cursing Cináed for never listening to her, their father for not keeping a closer watch on that damn boy and Deòiridh although her mother would not say why their aunt was included in the list of curses. Any attempt to find out why had Beathag sobbing anew, Aifric's siblings looking on in panic and alarm from around the wall. Aifric wanted to curse herself; her mother being in the kitchen meant there was no way to sneak Marsaili, Keir and Muireadhach out to someone else so they wouldn't have to see their mother in such a state. Her suggestion of such a thing had been shouted down the instant it had left her mouth, mother saying that she would not risk losing another of her children to whatever had taken Cináed even though she would not say what fate she believed had befallen her eldest son. So Aifric had taken to plying her mother with whisky in the hopes she'd either get drunk and fall asleep or at least be drunk enough to let the three younger children go off to her sister. She hadn't let anyone into the house and that was a bad sign, Aifric knew. In a time of crisis, the clan was meant to gather together especially when it was the chief's family who were suffering so that they could show support to one another. They were not all related by blood but clan was family and family looked after one another. At least Clan Donald hadn't arrived yet or Aifric would have been trying to look after her mother and play host. _If they weren't coming at all then none of this would have happened_ , she thought bitterly to herself as she stoked the fire, catching Marsaili's eye, noticing just how wide and afraid they were, shining with tears.  
  
"Mam," she tried again, sitting next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her mother over so her head rested next to Aifric's, "won't you let me send them off to your sister? You're scaring them and they already worry about Cináed and father." She braced herself for another angry retort but none came, just a quiet stuttering sort of sob that was more like a sigh prompting Aifric to peer over. Beathag's face was ashen, eyes red and puffy from her tears, the end of her nose red and running too but where she had cried loudly and noisily before, now she wept silently with only the odd stuttering hiccupy breath betraying her.  
  
Time to get the others gone.  
  
Extracting herself from her mother with care and after wrapping her tighter in her shawl, Aifric bustled around where their food was kept, waving her three younger siblings over as she did so. They crept as quietly as they could, trying to avoid catching their mother's eye in case she demanded to know what they were doing and where they thought they were going but Aifric suspected that Beathag would see nothing for a good long while, not until Aonghas came back with or without Cináed. Aifric wanted to hit whoever had let him go off alone and she suspected she would when they came back, striking at him until his face and her hands were raw and bloody, barely able to stomach thinking about marrying some stranger now. It could not go ahead until Cináed was found, everyone would understand. _If_ Cináed was found was not a thought she would allow herself to entertain as she busied herself with wrapping up oatcakes, tying up a few young rabbits by their hind legs and finding a skin of whisky that she handed off to her siblings.  
  
"I'll be back soon mam," she called, ushering them all out into the cold where they set off at a brisk place to their maternal aunt, her husband out to help in looking for Cináed. If Aifric listened close enough she could hear the hounds barking and all could see the glow of a torch now and again as they hunted down her younger brother. Her aunt was only all too happy to take the three youngest off Aifric's hands, asking after her sister. "She'll no see anyone," Aifric said sadly, "I'm going to see Deòiridh, she might have some tincture we can give her so she'll rest a few hours. Thank you for taking them for the night." Her aunt smiled sadly, ushering the three inside and offering kind words as well as a parcel of roast pheasant that Aifric tucked under her arm as she hurried off to her other aunt.  
  
Aifric had adored aunt Deòiridh for years, listening as she told them the stories of the gods and goddesses and how their lands were made, of all the wild things around them and the magic that infused every being. Her apprentice Amhlaidh had been taught to use his Seer magic, more focussed than Deòiridh's. Aifric would never admit that the young man unnerved her. It was not so much anything he said or did for he was nothing if not courteous, shyer than many young maidens. He wasn't boisterous or boastful like many of the other young men but then he was never included in what they did, instead being the one to help heal them when they hurt themselves doing something foolish to impress their friends or woo a lassie. Equally nervous with men and women, his eyes never lingered on the places Aifric would rather they did not but it was the way he looked at her as if he saw through her and straight into her soul, all the paths of her life laid bare. Aifric did not wish to know her future but seeing Amhlaidh often meant she worried about the look on his face or in his eyes after he had only said hello. Tonight she would take whatever she was given. She needed to know. Needed to know if they would be bringing home her brother, a body or nothing at all. Bracing herself – and wishing she'd thought to have a dram herself – she knocked at Deòiridh's door.  
  
"I knew you would come before the night was through," her aunt said by way of greeting as she opened the door.  
  
"Deòiridh," Aifric croaked, letting herself fall forward, the tears she had held back for her mother's sake. The door was shut behind her as Deòiridh escorted her in.  
  
"Ah come on lass, get yourself a warm by the fire, Amhlaidh fetch her something to drink. Ssh, ssh, you're fine lassie, just breathe, that's a girl," Deòiridh soothed, her words seeming far away to Aifric's ears as she allowed a glass to be pressed into her hands, taking a sip she didn't taste. "I suppose you're here for answers then."  
  
Taking a steadying breath, Aifric swallowed the last of the whisky in one go, relishing the burn. "I need you to come to the house, I sent Marsaili, Keir and Muireadhach off for the night after mam was drunk enough not to notice."  
  
"She's that bad then."  
  
"What do you think! She's been beside herself ever since he failed to return with father and all the rest! She cursed him, she cursed Cináed, the other hunters – she even cursed you but she would not tell me why. What's going on Deòiridh? Will I see my brother again?" Deòiridh turned away, shoulders hunched, looking very old rather than timeless. Aifric rolled her cup between her hands, waiting for an answer as Amhlaidh hovered in the background with the small bottle of tincture Aifric had no intention of drinking.  
  
"This isn't the sort of talk to have here when there is much to tell you and your mother who needs us both, wouldn't do to leave her for too long. Laddie, fetch my cloak and yours, a few more of those tinctures, ach you know what to do." Amhlaidh nodded, Aifric watching him go as Deòiridh looked out the window – perhaps looking far beyond it and into the future but before Aifric could ask anything, she was being pulled to her feet and ushered back out the door down to her own home again. She could feel eyes upon her as they watched the two outcasts of their clan marching along no doubt believing that soon there would be a great cry of mourning like the wail of the dread bean-shìdh. Perhaps someone at one of the rivers an unseen bean nighe had already begun to wash his grave clothes, a bean-shìdh making her way to their village to keen out, preparing them for the death to come.  
  
Maybe they would find Cináed somewhere or maybe he would stagger home, laughing at them, saying they clucked like mother hens over nothing that cocky grin on his face as if he was a great hero of legend. Alas there was no such miracle when they returned to Aifric's home with her mother seemingly having moved not an inch, the empty whisky glass held in a white-knuckled grip as if it were her only lifeline.  
  
"Deòiridh," her mother rasped out, voice hardened by tears and whisky.  
  
"Beathag, I brought you something to help you rest," Deòiridh said with a tight smile, taking a cautious step towards the other woman, Aifric herself feeling like an outsider as she watched this moment.  
  
"Have you brought me my son Deòiridh? Have you brought Cináed? Or do you bring more words that haunted me for years and haunt me now?"  
  
"Mam? What are you-"  
  
Beathag continued, ignoring her daughter even as she cut her off. "Did you know it would be today you treacherous witch? If you were any other woman you would have been driven off from the clan! You would have been drowned in the river or burned at the stake if you had said such words to the chief's wife at the birth of her first son!"  
  
"She's drunk Deòiridh, don't listen to her," Aifric apologised, embarrassed on her mother's behalf and her own. Her mother would be mortified when she was sober she was sure, especially saying such things in front of someone outside the family too but Deòiridh stood still as a statue, solemn eyes and mouth before she took a seat, reaching out to hold Beathag's hands. Her mother let her and then sobbed anew.  
  
"We'll wait for Aonghas to get back before we talk for I will not make you listen twice. You two young ones best take a seat too, you'll be wanting to hear this story for yourselves."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dram – replacement word for whisky  
> bean-shìdh – Scottish Gaelic spelling of banshee, an omen of death and messenger of Otherwold. She makes a death wail.  
> bean nighe – similar to a banshee but she washes the blood from the grave clothes of the soon to be deceasedCollapse


	4. Chapter 4

Amhlaidh's silence was comforting as he stayed with Deòiridh sitting alongside Aifric by the fire as they all waited for the return of Aonghas. Aifric was glad of the quiet. Her aunt had said not a word, her mother had taken to staring intently at the door and the village was still too. They had been gone for hours now, they would have to turn back before it became dark and treacherous for the hills with the wild beasts and the creatures that were spoken of in stories but were real enough with so many of the clan seeing or hearing them. She wondered how her sister and brothers were but if they were meant to hear whatever it was Deòiridh intended to say then she would have sent for them or said so, those who would hear her words would be those who had to know and deserved to know it. The wait was killing her as she clenched and unclenched her fingers for lack of anything else to do as she would certainly be told to sit down if she began to pace. She and her mother hadn't eaten since breakfast but Aifric had no appetite and if she didn't, her mother would not either.  
  
The hand that reached out to squeeze hers almost made her jump with fright, the cry caught in her throat before it could escape. Amhlaidh flushed, looking away before he cleared his throat. Aifric managed a smile, squeezing his hand back. Today she would turn away no comfort while she waited for the return of the search party. In the end, the wait was not as long as it felt, not with dark falling and the baying of hounds announced their arrival to the village, Aifric leaping to her feet to wait by the door. She could hear their hound whining plaintively at the door but her father took his time coming in. He was alone. A noise rose out of her mother and her father's face fell, crumpling as he shook his head.  
  
"He's...gods the boy's gone," he gasped, staggering forward and Aifric grabbed for his elbow to steady him, Amhlaidh looking for whisky and as soon as a glass was filled it was snatched away, downed and refilled. "We searched Beathag but our wee Cináed is nowhere to be seen."  
  
"Aonghas he canna be dead!"  
  
"He may yet live, there was no body and the blood upon the ground was queer, frozen stiff and solid," Aonghas explained, rubbing his brow as Aifric sat next to him, letting him kiss her temple as she squeezed one of his hands, cold as ice. "Sister, what do you know of this, you or the boy."  
  
"What does she know?" Aifric asked, leaning back to look her father in the eye but he avoided her gaze, instead looking to her mother and her aunt who both sighed before Deòiridh cleared her throat.  
  
"You know that I have the gift of a Seer lass," it was not a question but Aifric nodded anyway, holding tight to her father's hand in a way she had not since childhood when he'd helped her toddle around, his huge chapped, weather-beaten hands holding hers gently. Now she was the one trying to give him strength to get through the confession that was sure to come if the tension in the room was anything to go by. "It is not as powerful as that of my student but it is strong enough to know the greater things of the future. I looked into the future of all babes I deliver. I saw yours, I saw that of your siblings too but Cináed's future was not as joyous or as normal as the fate I saw for many. When I first held him in my arms I saw that winter herself would steal him away for to see her at all is a sign of grave danger. He would be taken," she watched her aunt swallow carefully and that was enough to send a shudder down her spine because never before had she seen her aunt falter, not once. "He would be taken," she continued with a sharp inhale, "during a stag hunt, swept away by a storm."  
  
Bile rose in Aifric's throat, her mouth forming words, her head shaking. "No. You're wrong. She would not take my brother and condemn him to death for killing a stag."  
  
"She would if it were one of hers. You know your gods girl, it was I who taught you them."  
  
"Did you not tell him to be careful?" She looked from her mother to her father, the tears she had held back for hours finally spilling, wrenching her hand free of her father's when he moved to comfort her. "We did not want to believe," her mother whispered in a broken voice, empty. "He was our darling boy to be clan chief, we never thought this would come to pass."  
  
"If you seek to blame any Aifric then blame your mother and I, not him. We are the ones who have failed him and we will grieve the hardest when the bean-shìdh wail to confirm that he is gone and when someone spies the bean nighe washing his grave clothes." It was the first time in her life she had ever seen her father weep. A proud bear of a man with a great rumbling laugh, his shock of auburn hair and beard with those ruddy cheeks, always the loudest when singing war songs or when doing anything. He shook the way the few truly elderly amongst them did, those creatures with toothless mouths and a few strands of white hair left who seemed to sink within the wrinkled folds of their loose papery skin, men and women who were only bones and clinging on somehow to outlast many of their own kin.  
  
"You will do nothing?"  
  
"What can we do lass?"  
  
"We live beneath her throne!"  
  
"This is not where she would take him Aifric," and this time it was Amhlaidh who spoke up with his soft voice best suited to calming the sick and frightened. "She would take him far afield to imprison him in that screaming place between islands so far away."  
  
"Coire Bhreacain, between Jura and Scarba, that is where he will be."  
  
"Then go!"  
  
"Enough!" The bellow seemed to shake the house as her father, still with tears running down his face to wet his beard rose to his feet, crossing the room to take her mother in his arms. "Enough of this. Our son is gone and we must mourn him for there is no more we can do save wait. Deòiridh will you and the lad stay this night?"  
  
"Aye brother, we will stay and help as needed." She squeezed his arm as he began to lead Beathag away to their bed, the slow and painful trudge of those who had lost everything.  
  
"You will do nothing," Aifric repeated in a whisper and when Amhlaidh moved to hold her she allowed it, sobbing into his shoulder, great gulping breaths that burned her ribs and throat as her knees gave way beneath her, fists lashing out at the height of her anger and devastation until she collapsed against him weakly until it was over, the storm passed for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coire Bhreacain - "cauldron of the speckled seas" or "cauldron of the plaid"


	5. Chapter 5

The bed was too large without other bodies pressed in alongside her, no stray elbows or knees or cold feet pressing against her legs to wake her from dreams but as drained as she was, sleep would not come and so she lay awake listening to the whistle of the wind outside and the quiet breathing of her parents in the next room. If Deòiridh and Amhlaidh had not been present only a room away, murmuring back and forth in soft voices then it would have seemed a normal night, something that felt wrong when the world had been pulled out from beneath her. Aifric believed in her gods and goddesses but belief and knowledge were very different things; today, no, yesterday now, it had been proven that Cailleach Bheur was real and had stolen her brother from her. She was still in shock for any moment she expected her brother to walk in, apologising but grinning, covered in grime with a tall tale to tell. Everyone would be furious for a good week or two but after that he would be their golden boy again, boasting and preparing himself to lead them on when their father passed away. Staring at their thatched ceiling, she rubbed her eyes irritably and rolled over, her back to the door so it could not mock her further. Lying here like this, snug and cosy when the sibling she was closest to was held in the clutches of the winter queen was wrong. They should all be out searching for him or trying to find out how they might best appease Beira, instead they had already admitted defeat and she would not even be there to hear the wail when it came, sent off to Clan Donald's lands with her new husband.  
  
Irritably she kicked off the blankets and rose from her bed, pulling up her thick woollen stockings as she did so. There was a restlessness she hadn't felt in years, a twitchy nervous energy that had once found her in trouble with an exasperated mother trying to shepherd her flock of small unruly children around. Archery and the dagger had given her some way to burn it off and she still always volunteered for any errand that saw her out of the house or away from cooking, sewing or churning butter, the sort of busy work all young women were expected to occupy themselves with. She'd rather be out in the hills tending to flocks with her father and brothers, out in the wilds with the wind in her hair, something she was teased about, all the wild ways she would have to tone down in the future. Quietly, so as not to wake her parents who surely slept poorly, ready to be woken by the smallest of sounds, she joined her aunt and Amhlaidh in the kitchen. Both of them watched her with sympathetic eyes as she stoked a fire that burned merrily without her aid, warming her hands in front of it until they began to turn red, heat making them itch.  
  
"You should be in bed," her aunt said gently but before she could take Aifric's arm, the young woman jerked away, narrowing her eyes.  
  
"I should be out there looking for my brother, not tucked up sleeping safe and sound!"  
  
"Keep your voice down," Deòiridh hissed, "your mother and father need their rest."  
  
"No, what they _need_ ," Aifric spat with fury in her eyes and voice, nose to nose, "is to look for my brother instead of abandoning to something they never bothered to warn him fully about! This is their fault as much as it is Cináed's!"  
  
The slap when it came stole her breath away enough to send her reeling back a few feet, one hand coming to hold her stinging cheek. Amhlaidh made a noise of shock mingled with horror but no one moved a muscle until Aifric laughed, a low mirthless chuckle as she shook her head.  
  
"You failed him too. You all did. You should have sat him down and told him exactly what you told mam when she had him. Why did all three of you bite your tongues?"  
  
"I don't have to answer that – your mam never wanted to worry the lad, your father listened to your mam and I had no desire to drive a wedge between myself and this family."  
  
"Comfort yourself with that, show them a stony heart when they mourn my brother with a cairn for show and nothing more, when Keir must take up his place, when my mother never smiles again." Turning on her heel sharply she went to her room, stripping out of the shift she wore to bed and into something warm, made of green wool. It had been a gift she recalled, a simple dress but comfortable. Next she shoved her feet into her boots and laced them tight, threw a shawl around her then dropped to her knees before the wooden chest her grandfather had carved for her grandmother as a wedding gift. It held little, only precious things she and her siblings had collected over the years, most wrapped in scraps of cloth. There were the wooden animals her father had carved for each of them in turn, their edges blunt, scratched and dented but still loved, still treasured. A few bits and pieces of jewellery, some hers and some Marsaili's. Only two items she plucked from the chest, holding both close for a time; her bow and quiver of arrows, something her parents thought she would put aside and truth be told, she had planned to make a gift of them to her own child once she was married and came of age but she had a need of them now more than she had when she was trying to have fun. Satisfied, she strapped her quiver in place, closed the chest and secured her sgian-dubh at her right ankle.  
  
Her aunt's eyes were full of knowing when she emerged. Even if she had not foreseen this, she knew that she could not stop her niece.  
  
"Be careful lass, I'll tell them..."  
  
"That I love them, that I'm sorry and that I'll be back before the spring," Aifric finished, striding out of the house before her courage fled. She did not leave alone though as Amhlaidh followed her as she made her way towards the woods just as Cináed had done that morning.  
  
"Aifric! Aifric this is mad, do you have any idea what you're doing?" Amhlaidh asked as he hurried after her in the dark with the first pink and orange tinges of dawn beginning to brighten up the sky, the grass stiff with frost. "Your mother and father-"  
  
"I don't care Amhlaidh! My brother is gone and there isn't long to find him before he's dead and gone for good." Though she longed to shout she kept her voice to a venomous hiss, low enough not to wake anyone nearby for it would not be too long until people rose from their bed to tend their flocks, life carrying on anew as if nothing terrible had occurred.  
  
"He angered _Beira_! You cannot be serious in going after him can you?"  
  
She turned to face him, skirts whirling around her ankles, eyes narrowed and furious. "Why not? Because I am a woman? Because I should just accept what has happened?"  
  
Amhlaidh shook his head, catching his breath. "You have no supplies."  
  
For the second time that night, she laughed but this one was not so bitter, just skirting the edge of hysterical. "Where would we get any?"  
  
"Deòiridh," Amhlaidh replied simply, smiling tentatively. "I would be a poor Seer if I didn't know what to do when fate calls." Beckoning her back towards the edges of the village, they made their way to Deòiridh's where food and skins for water waited as well as, rather inexplicably, a good supply of arrows and bowstrings.  
  
  
Many miles away from all he knew and loved Cináed screamed within a tomb of ice, staring out at the unfamiliar waters beyond him. He had never been so far from his home before. Home was mountain ranges, burns and rivers, lush forests and his family all around him, mother and father, Aifric, Marsaili, Keir and Muireadhach. All his many friends and extended family too. Was this why his mother worried about him on the hunts? Again he beat his fists against his prison, screaming until his throat ached but there was no one to hear him or aid him and his fists made no mark in the ice but it was better than nothing. At least he could still move although a part of him wondered if this was punishment; there were stories of children and even grown men and women who slipped beneath the ice and died when none could get them out in time. No one could be encased in ice and live to tell the tale. He might brag but he knew full well that he was no great hero, he was barely a man, a boy who desperately wanted to be as good as his father or better, a boy who wanted to be a great man and who proved himself at every chance he was presented. Was he to be cut off from his home for all eternity to watch the swirling unknown waters between two islands he could not name and he cursed himself as he sank to his knees, shivering and drawing his feilidh-mhor tight around him. He should have listened to his lessons more, he should never have been so bull-headed in going after that stag to come home the best of hunters far older than he. Now he might spend an eternity trapped like this for angering Beira who had spirited him away with her ghoulish helpers all for bringing down the wrong stag. Were they searching fruitlessly for him? How much time had passed and was there any escape? He had tried apologising to the monstrous figure that was Beira whenever he felt the rumble of her giant footsteps and to the Cailleachan too but his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. It was the first time in his life that a heartfelt and sincere apology had gotten him nowhere, making him wish he had heeded his lessons from his aunt better when she had warned that gods, goddesses, spirits and beasts did not obey the laws or customs of men, having their own rules and views and judgements. It had been many years since he had last wept, determined to prove himself a man and no longer a boy but he wept now, an anguished cry he scarcely recognised, that of a wounded animal, lost, alone and in pain. He wept until he had no more tears and huddled into the side of his prison with his back turned to the water he fell into a fitful sleep where he froze solid and began to melt at the coming of spring.


	6. Chapter 6

They had walked through the night, up hill and glen in near silence save for warning one another of branches or holes in the ground neither wishing to injure themselves so early on in their journey. Aifric knew the land better from exploring with her siblings and father though she was not sure they were headed in the right direction - Coire Bhreacain, Jura, Scarba, they may as well be Otherworld to her but Amhlaidh corrected her little. There would be a time to talk but after marching all night, they collapsed in the hollow of a dead tree to sleep by day, huddling close together for warmth. A fire was too risky when they still were within easy reach of the village and her worried parents. Guilt ate at her and more than once she had wondered if this was the right thing to do but somehow she knew that if she did nothing, she would regret it for the rest of her days. And Amhlaidh's words the night before, they had hinted as much so she took what comfort she could from that and pressed onward. Sleeping during the day would only last them so long for they could not cover much ground at night and certainly not once they reached unfamiliar lands that might not welcome a young man and young woman travelling together with the wrong one armed. Amhlaidh carried only a dirk and sgian-dubh, seemingly uncomfortable with the thought of killing or violence. Just another way he was marked as an outsider from the clan.  
  
In truth, she was ashamed at how little she knew about him when he had lived in her aunt's home for years. He was a Seer and he had been abandoned by his family, taken in by her aunt but that was the extent of it. But she was tired and so was he so they slept like the dead with their weapons at the ready. They broke their fast over oatcakes and cold water that kicked them in the stomach like an angry horse but it was enough to get them up and moving for the day, the hem of Aifric's dress spattered with mud, snagging on the brambles and branches that littered the ground. It bothered her little – it would be torn before long, the same way all her dresses ended up before her mother hemmed them more severely so that they would fit Marsaili. Still, she looked on at Amhlaidh's feilidh-mhor with a small measure of envy at how little it impeded him, how he could wrap himself in it completely at night to keep warm but she had never been allowed one past being very little where she had crudely fashioned them out of her blankets, racing round the croft as her parents looked on and laughed.  
  
Around them the forest was quiet, or as quiet as it ever got. She thought she glimpsed a wildcat, the hardy dappled beasts that were far more feral than some of the cats that were kept to hunt rats, the lazy creatures that liked to curl up on laps when the dogs weren't chasing them. Dogs were afraid of the wildcats and some had returned from hunts with deep scratches upon their faces from vicious claws. There were various rustlings here and there, the kind that hopefully meant she could catch dinner. They had taken as much as they could from her aunt's but even so she didn't want to rely solely on their supplies. She had never gone hunting before but her aim was swift and true. She'd learn. Either that or she'd have to try her hand at fishing in the rivers and burns somehow. Birds sang as they walked, quiet trills to one another or the high cry of the birds of prey, hawks and buzzards; more than once in the night she had woken from an owl calling as it hunted, she was sure it had roosted in the tree that had been her and Amhlaidh's bed for the night. The birds and cats she could deal with but they both knew that there were more dangerous things they would run into, wolves and bears, wild boar, things that could kill them easily if they took a mind to. Those were just the beasts, not the other creatures that were somewhere between those and human. Stories of ghillie dhus, caoineags, shellycoats, kelpies and many more had been her favourite when growing up but even though they had always been told the full horrors of the stories, they had felt safe, tucked up snug in bed as a parent, or more often Deòiridh, spoke in a hushed voice, bent low to the bed, almost looming, the light of a guttering candle transporting them all far away from their cosy home to some other world of the fairies.  
  
When it reached the middle of the day with the sun shining through the remains of the forest canopy, their breath no longer fogging the air ahead of them she almost began to enjoy herself. It was still cold and the air was damp but the world around her felt so alive, dew and melting frost glittering, the rich smell of pines carrying on the breeze with the luscious damp of earth and leaf litter. Maybe she might have loved it all the more had she chosen to come here of her own free will and not because love for her brother and necessity dictated. There was a freedom in this place, a wild unkempt beauty that could be savage and frightening but still breathtaking. A herd of deer, no stag in sight but not far off if the bellow was anything to go by, soured her mood. She would never be able to forget the reason for her quest for long it would seem and her steps slowed until Amhlaidh noticed she lagged behind him, stopping and leaning on the branch he was using as a walking stick.  
  
"Aifric?"  
  
"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head as she hurried to catch up with him, "I was just-"  
  
"Thinking about your brother?" She nodded, sniffing and moving ahead of him, wanting to keep going, one foot in front of the other. "Are you alright?"  
  
_No I'm heartbroken, I'm terrified and still furious_ , she thought but nodded instead. "Let us talk of other things, there will be time to talk of my brother when we have covered more ground and the wound is less raw. Tell me of yourself."  
  
"There is little to tell," Amlaidh answered with a shrug, "I'm no great hunter or fighter, no one special."  
  
"You're a bloody Seer, those are rare, very rare in our clan. Deòiridh told me that most came from the islands so far away from here, Na h-Eileanan Siar – are you from there?"  
  
"Nay, I come from..." Amhlaidh faltered for a moment, Aifric placing a hand on his arm to offer comfort.  
  
"I heard you came to us a foundling, I meant no offense and it wasn't my intent to upset you," she said quickly, trying to smile in reassurance, "you are clan, that is all that matters to me Amhlaidh."  
  
"Thank you, it's rare that anyone has said such to me." He smiled at her in return, inhaling sharply and shrugging. "I know little of where I came from, only what people say based on my looks and those who might be nearby but few wish to claim a foundling babe or face the penalty for abandoning a healthy child imposed by the clan chief. You know some say that I am a changeling or a fairy child," Aifric nodded for such stories were always told and her brother had been one of those who spouted such a tale one night. He'd been firmly lectured by their parents and made to apologise the next day. "Other say that I am the son of this god or that god, like Shoni. But it seems a frightful long trip to rid yourself of a babe."  
  
"Do you think they know when a babe is born if they are a Seer?" She asked with a small tremor of something akin to trepidation in her voice.  
  
"I couldn't say – but the folk, they all avoid me. You do too." Aifric had the grace to blush because it was true that she had kept her distance from him the same as so many had, fumbling to give some apology until a nudge came to her side. "I understand Aifric, none of you treat me kindly and you let me see you at your own weakest and most vulnerable, it's the same as your aunt," he sighed quietly, almost breezily, striding onward. "Whatever I am, I'm a bastard at best." She didn't need to ask more there, unwed mothers were one thing but there were crimes that were committed that could leave someone with an unwanted babe, nothing she thought she could put into words, too embarrassed and mortified to speak of things no one as young as her were meant to know of.  
  
"I never asked my aunt what it was like to be a Seer or a healer, mam and dad, they didn't want to encourage too much bad influence in any of us and mam, well now I think she worried herself about what Deòiridh might say." Speaking of the prophecy that had been kept hidden so long was hard when it was so new to her but old to them, as if they had all thought that by burying it they could prevent it from taking place.  
  
"When you see something you're there with it in that moment, as if it is happening right before your eyes but it's only one possibility. Everything changes, day gives way to night, leaves fall in autumn and bloom anew in the spring, none can see what course will be taken exactly so we say what we see and if it does not come to pass then we're the mad, people not to be listened to, halfwitted."  
  
"And if it comes true and it's joyous then you are praised but if it is a bad omen that comes to pass then you are hated and ostracised."  
  
Amhlaidh's smile was tight, his grey eyes haunted. "I saw you doing this but it was only that you and I would go on some grand journey, I never saw how old we were," it was an admission, she could tell by his tone but also from the sudden red flush across his cheeks, "sometimes I think I saw what I wanted to see. You have to be careful with that, it's so easy to interpret something into what you wish to see, like the Seers of great lords who listen to every scrap they can."  
  
"My father always said such men were weak men who had allowed fear to rule them and that they'd forgotten what it was to live, every shadow concealing an enemy, every whisper a word of conspiracy against them."  
  
"He might well be right but I know too few of such men to judge."  
  
They kept walking for some time in companionable silence after that before they stopped to eat, cutting small morsels from some smoked boar they had taken from Deòiridh's home. She had spoken of her father partly because she missed him feeling guilty that she had been unable to leave him a note of goodbye but there had been no time. The other reason she had spoken of him had been to spare Amhlaidh his blushes. Now though with food in her belly she could feel a sliver of mischief mixed with curiosity.  
  
"I know I have asked many things of you already today but I wanted to ask something more," she began, passing her water skin over to him.  
  
"As you wish," he replied, stretching his legs out in front of him.  
  
"You said that you had seen us together once, like we are now out walking but you did not know if it was this or something else, something only you wished to see."  
Amhlaidh went red as rowan berries, from the tips of his ears and right down his neck, pale skin and dark hair making it even more obvious than it would normally be, testing Aifric's ability to hold in her laugh and keep a straight face, her cheeks and sides starting to ache from the strain the longer he remained unable to utter a single word of explanation.  
  
"Y-you are one of the," he began, swallowing convulsively, "you are close and kind, almost family but I meant no offense, I mean I apologise if I misspoke-"  
  
"Amhlaidh," she leaned over to rest a hand upon his arm, her smile tempered to be friendly and nothing more, "I was only asking. I am not offended."  
  
"You are the only girl- young woman in the village who speaks to me without tittering and well, I did not predict this. Wouldn't you wonder, if you saw yourself going out in the woods with someone half a stranger but had no idea why?"  
  
"I don't have dreams, none that I remember at any rate."  
  
"None at all?"  
  
"Is that when you see so many things? In dreams?"  
  
"Some of the time, other times I can see them in the water or in the way branches move but I have to ask Deòiridh if I see the right thing, if I interpret them."  
  
A giggle escaped Aifric and she smirked. "You didn't ask her about that one?" She asked with as much innocence as she could muster at that moment which was very little indeed.  
  
"Would you tell the woman who looks after you that you had a dream where you were wandering the woods with her niece?" A beat later he amended his words after clearing his throat, "Well change the circumstances somewhat."  
  
"I can safely say that no, I wouldn't, lest word get back to my father."  
  
"Now you know why I said nothing."  
  
"Now I feel bad for embarrassing you," she murmured, "putting you on the spot just to satisfy my curiosity."

"It's a good distraction from all that has happened and all that lies ahead.  
  
"You'll tell me," urgency crept into her voice as she rose up to her knees, reaching out to him, "if you see something about my brother, you wouldn't keep silent."  
  
"What I see may not bring you comfort," he warned, his eyes sombre, "I warn you of that now."  
  
Eyes downcast she considered her options even after they were on the move once more and speaking of other things as they walked the woods. She went for a walk around their little camp as dark began to fall with a burning torch in one hand, sgian-dubh in the other taking longer than she needed to as she stopped by large trees, leaning against them as she thought of her brother, of Cináed's laughter if he could see what she was up to now. He had always wanted to go on grand adventures when he'd been a little boy and gods be with her then maybe he would get to go on them when he was safe and sound although their mother was unlikely to ever let him out of her sight again when he came home.  
  
If.  
  
She didn't know what to do with if. If was a lead weight in her belly that promised nothing good, stripped all colour and light from the world leaving empty shadows. It was with that in mind that she returned to camp to let Amhlaidh sleep first, needing more time to think to herself as she nibbled here and there at food she did not taste, listening to hooting owls, scurrying in the undergrowth, the crackling of the fire and Amhlaidh's steady breathing.  
  
When the time came to change watch she lay awake even knowing she would need to rest for the adrenaline of the first night and day would soon wear off as the hard work of their journey set in but her mind would not stop weighing the pros and cons of Amhlaidh's question. Was it true that knowing nothing was better than knowing at all? She would surely torture herself with possibilities either way and with a grunt, she pushed herself up and called out Amhlaidh's name.  
  
"I want to know, no matter what. If you see anything, tell me." Her heart beat rapidly and her mouth went dry as she said those words with Amhlaidh's knowing eyes upon, for a moment she feared he would rescind his offer or ask her again if she was sure but finally he nodded once and that seemed to settle it.  
  
"You should get some rest," he said as easily as they had discussed almost every other matter and satisfied, she stretched out again on the ground, wriggling her cold toes in her boots. The decision made, sleep seemed to come more easily and she fell asleep to the crackling pops and hisses from the fire.

**Author's Note:**

> glossary:  
> Dinna fash yersel – don't worry  
> Wallydraigle - a feeble, imperfectly developed, or slovenly creature  
> Ken – understand  
> Mam – pronunciation of mum from up north  
> feilidh-mhor – belted plaid or 'great kilt'  
> skelp – a slap, smack or blow, esp. one given with an open hand  
> ghillie dhu – a faerie, a guardian spirit of the trees  
> hart – male red deer, esp. over five years old  
> sgian-dubh – small single-edged knife, normally worn on the right leg  
> dram – replacement word for whisky  
> bean-shìdh – Scottish Gaelic spelling of banshee, an omen of death and messenger of Otherwold. She makes a death wail.  
> bean nighe – similar to a banshee but she washes the blood from the grave clothes of the soon to be deceased  
> Coire Bhreacain - "cauldron of the speckled seas" or "cauldron of the plaid"


End file.
